Res Judicata
by sf
Summary: Opposites attract. Vice President Rufus attempts to increase his influence by playing on a young Turk's attraction to him, but fails account for his own emotions. With assassins' bombs blowing up around them, it might actually work. RufusReno
1. Prologue

**Res** **Judicata** – The matter has been judged

Final Fantasy VII – Rating: PG-13 – Part 0? – Warnings: None

Pairings: Rufus/Reno

Opposites attract, and sparks fly, and a young Vice President and a rookie Turk attempt to make it together, though the whole wide world should bar the way.

Note: The prologue starts just after the events of the game, and spirals back into the past in chapter 1.

* * *

-

**Prologue**

"Sir? You have a guest."

Rufus looks up from the laptop balanced on his knees, squinting his one good eye to see if the doctor is serious. There are precious few people who know that he is alive, and he intends to keep it that way. Meteor has fallen, Shinra has crumpled, and its President is currently a paralyzed invalid stuck in a hospital bed, wholly dependent on the charity of, ironies of ironies, a dedicated medical facility he set up for injured Shinra soldiers in the fight against the Weapons.

The physical damage he sustained from Weapon has largely been taken care of, except for that which cannot be tended to with Cure materia. But another sickness has set in, swirling patterns of darkness against his skin – one with neither name nor cure.

"A guest?" he repeats, stalling for time. "Who is he?"

"He wouldn't say, sir. He—"

The doctor is abruptly shoved aside, and Rufus has to blink to realign his depth of focus on the newcomer.

And the breath stops in his throat as bad memories sink their claws in.

-

"_If that's how you feel…"_

"_Damn right that's how I feel!"_

Words from the past. Words exchanged violently in the haze of bitter anger.

-

Startling green eyes meet his from across the room and, in memory's eye, from across the days? weeks? months? that stand between them and their last meeting, they catch his own gaze,

_glaring_ _at him in terrible accusation. _

"_The Company is dead, anyway."_

"_Only rats would abandon a sinking ship. The Captain—"_

"_--The Captain is a fool."_

-

His eye is drawn straight to twin dagger point scars high on cheekbones

_flashing_ _past his eyes as the other spins, fully intending to leave.._

"_Does all of this mean nothing to you? All that we've worked for all this time?"_

"_You worked for it. Not me. Not us. Never us. We were just your dogs, after all."_

_-_

Fire bright hair

_whipping_ _past and retreating towards the far door. _

"_Does the concept of loyalty mean nothing to you?"_

"_Loyalty?_ _Don't talk to me about loyalty. You killed your own father—"_

"_--That has nothing to do with anything! My loyalty was not to him! Damnit—"_

_-_

"--Reno."

And in his memory there is someone yelling, there is the sound of a door slamming on a name, retreating footsteps that continue to sound in his heart long after they have ceased sounding in his ears.

"Rufus."

"What brings you back here?"

"Well, heard you were alive and all that—"

"What _right_ do you have to come back here, after all you said the last time?"

That wipes the too bright smile clean off Reno's face, to be replaced by distant non-expression flecked with the slightest signs of anger.

"I like that look," Rufus says quietly, his expression hardening. "It reminds me of the look you wore the last time we spoke."

He pauses, searching for some kind of reaction. The world as he knows it has ended, but it seems that certain things he thought over did not die with it. He watches the other struggle for words in the face of his accusation, wondering if it is guilt that holds the Turk's tongue, or anger. "Or have you already forgotten what you said then?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Pay attention, Reno," Rufus says, as he points out something on the diagram. "This is the coolant control—"

"Don't see why I have to bother with this shit, anyway," Reno says, leaning back and yawning. "Rude can go and memorize the nitty gritty details."

-

_Somewhere, years ago, there is a newly minted Vice President and relatively new Turk, one seated and one sprawled across the black leather couches gracing the living room of the former's apartment._

-

"Standard policy is to have all operators informed so that they can complete the mission individually if necessary. Now pay attention. If you take this elevator, it'll lead you to the service walks, where—"

"—where you can hop across and yeah, yeah. You seriously think Avalanche is going to get that far in?"

-

_Somewhere, years ago, there is a beginning being made that neither was entirely aware of at the time._

-

"They might." Rufus leans back with a slight smile as Reno stretches, pushes himself off the table, and heads for the drinks cabinet. For his part, this is definitely one of the more enjoyable Sundays Rufus has had in a while, sequestered in his apartment trying to get a Turk to do his homework before an important mission. Avalanche is rumored to strike over the course of the next week, and orders from the President are to lure them in and try to wipe them out at one shot.

Privately, Rufus knows that Avalanche won't fall for that particular trick, but in the meantime, security has to be stepped up anyway, and well, it gives him the opportunity to spend the afternoon working with someone instead of wallowing in self-pity as he signs his way through piles of paperwork on his own.

The Turk is like a breath of fresh air. Rude is too quiet, Tseng too professional, and the afternoon would pass in the rapid flick of pages, all frantic business and the feeling of stress hanging in the air, and the evening would be spent slumped on the couch, massaging away the beginnings of a migraine.

Reno, on the other hand, has decided that the drinks cabinet is too hoity-toity for him, and has switched direction to head for the fridge instead. Rufus watches him as he carelessly raids it for a beer, grabbing a can without asking for permission first.

"Yes, you may have a can of beer. Thanks for asking," Rufus says dryly.

Reno glances back with his trademark grin. "You're welcome. Want one?"

_Why not?_ "Pass me a can."

Reno tosses him the can he's holding, and reaches back in the fridge for another. "You have some good shit here."

-

_And somewhere, years ago, there is the beginning to an end that neither could see coming._

-

"But of course. Some of us have good taste."

"I'm not complaining." Reno wanders over to the window, where a glorious sunset is just breaking out over the clouds, pink and blue and purple. In the distance, the Shinra Headquarters dominates the skyline, flanked by its phalanxes of mako reactors.

"Good." Rufus finds his eye drawn to the same view: the Midgar skyline illuminated in gold. Where the pollution can mix with nature in a peculiar, almost perverse way to produce a scene of rare beauty. At this time, in what passes for early autumn, the buildings are just dark, rectangular blocks against the sky, some speckled with lights. And then there is Reno's silhouette, in stark and sudden contrast, as he slouches, one hand stuck in a pocket of his black uniform jacket as the other hand cradles a beer can.

Idly, Rufus wonders what it's like to be a Turk. Or specifically, Reno. To be so utterly carefree and so utterly dangerous, and flaunt that so utterly boldly without fear of repercussion. Rufus himself is dangerous, far more dangerous than anyone in the Company would give him credit for, but his moves are all made in the darkness, orders sent over secured lines from secret locations, careful words in careful places engineered to chip away at the base of his father's power. To the world, he is still the young, helpless heir, and his father would like to keep it that way. And as much as he chafes at that description, chafes at the sneers from the ones who don't know better, he cannot afford to show his fangs. Not just yet.

At the same time, he cannot afford to be less than perfect. With his current reputation as bad as it is, the slightest slip up will demote him from 'helpless' to 'useless', and he cannot afford that. His achievements are masked, and so his failures must be too.

So Reno intrigues him. Was he always like that, Rufus wonders, as he watches the Turk rip the tab off the can and toss back several mouthfuls. Or did he only become so cocksure when he had established his reputation? For Reno is the most lethal man in the Department, their ace and their resident genius, if somewhat unreliable at times.

"Geez," Reno says, glancing at the wall clock. "It's past 6, boss. Can we at least call for take out if you're too stingy to bring me for dinner?"

And so utterly shameless.

Rufus doesn't mind. He stands, reaching for his keys, lying neatly in their little tray on the corner of his desk, polishes off most of the beer, and discards the rest. "Let's head out. There's a place nearby that's having a special." Sheer force of habit makes him close the file and tuck it under one arm, before a sudden tug on the binder stops him.

"Nuh huh. No bringing work to the dinner table," Reno says, whipping it away from him. "Besides, it's classified information, right? No bringing classified information out of secure territory."

Rufus raises an eyebrow at him.

"You don't scare me with that look, you little punk," Reno laughs. "Even if you scare the hell out of all your staff. You should treat them better, you know. Happy staff make for productive staff."

Rufus finds his arm abruptly snagged, as Reno tosses the binder on the couch and heads towards the door, still talking. Not for the first time, Rufus wonders at his casual familiarity. Certainly, the Turk hasn't tried to be over familiar with him just yet – there have been no mentions of going out to get smashed, or heading down to the Honey Bee, or similar escapades – which Rufus has been warned of. But still. This is their first time working closely together, and Reno is already—

--no, not already, Rufus realizes, as he dislodges Reno's arm and locks the door behind them. This is laidback for Reno, from what the rumors indicate, which speaks of a lingering caution on the Turk's part. Still testing the boundaries. After all, within Shinra Company itself, the figurehead Vice President is an imposing, terrifying, untouchable figure. Chillingly polite, so the secretaries say, and utterly terrifying.

_Fools, _Rufus thinks, wondering at their fear. They have no reason to be afraid. His chilling reputation has not been backed up by anything drastic apart from high standards. He does nothing without reason, and those who suffer from the malady of incompetence should be prepared to bite the bullet for their action.

After all, a few harsh words never hurt anyone.

Perhaps Reno realizes that, Rufus reflects, as he chases the Turk away from the driver's seat of the car.

"Don't get us killed, boss," Reno says.

"You're more likely to get us killed," Rufus demurs, as he snaps the keycard into the ignition and passes his hand over the palm scanner. Either the Turk has forgotten, or doesn't know, about the security features built into this vehicle. The features that would turn him into a mound of smoking ash in seconds if he even tried to drive the car before the security systems were programmed to recognize him.

Perhaps he doesn't care.

Reno, after all, seems the type to bite the bullet and walk off grinning after that.

"When you said some place having a special," Reno says, pausing in the doorway, "I didn't expect you to bring me to an all you can eat pizza buffet."

When he had sauntered into that nifty little apartment (in its own little building just a street away from the main building itself) an hour late for his appointment, to be greeted with a sardonic look and a comment about time keeping, he'd reflected that the Vice President was everything he'd expected him to be. The princely bratling with an attitude and a chip on his shoulder, utterly boring and way too focused on work for his own good. What kind of fifteen year old worked on Sunday, anyway?

"It seemed more to your taste. You were, after all, suggesting take out. You'd probably have called my usual haunts yuppie upper class food and turned your nose up at it," Rufus says with a chuckle, as the waiter shows them to a side table.

But he's being forced to revise his opinion by the minute. Sure, he's a high class brat, and Reno's frankly surprised that he has his own apartment and doesn't live anywhere near his father, and he's also boring and too focused on work, but he also shows the occasional flashes of a wry sense of humor. And an all you can eat pizza buffet? Sweet.

Reno congratulates himself on his positive influence on the kid.

"Besides," Rufus says, with a brief grin that looks positively mischievous, "This is yuppie upper class pizza anyway. Genuine wood-fired traditional flat pizzas from the Icicle Area."

"Pizza is pizza," Reno reflects, ditching his jacket over the back of the chair and heading for the buffet table with a grin of anticipation. Rufus joins him a brief second later, jacket not even unbuttoned, and Reno gives a mental headshake. It looks like the kid can be saved from the boring executive syndrome, but only if Reno-sama acts now to save him. At least he doesn't wear a tie. That's a good start.

He almost reaches out to tug on the lapels of that white jacket, but Rufus casually moves aside as if by complete accident, and Reno finds his eyes narrowing. Rufus is not a dumb kid, he recalls Tseng telling him earlier. Don't underestimate him.

And Rufus is eyeballing him out of the very corner of his eyes, as he has been all day, the sneaky little brat. Studying him. Measuring him. _Testing_ him.

Reno doesn't really have a sense for the politics that Company's so bloody tied up with. Not in the same way that Tseng and Veld do at least, and he's willing to bet his next year's paychecks that Rufus lives and breathes the stuff. He's also willing to bet more paychecks that Rufus is making some subtle statement by bringing him here, maybe something about playing on his field but under his own rules. Pizza, but expensive snotty as hell pizza with weird foreign names. Whatever. It's easier not to worry about all this nonsense. At some point they'll have to come out and say everything, and he'll deal with it when that happens. That's always been a good policy.

_You're too young for this shit, kiddo_, Reno thinks ruefully, shaking his head and stacking his plate.

-

"Don't suppose they serve beer here," he says, when they've made their way back to the table. He makes a special effort to speak with his mouth full. Rufus doesn't even wince. Point to the kid.

"Wine, actually. I called for a bottle."

"Don't they card you?" Reno says, shaking his head in some disbelief and ditching the knife and the fork to use his hands. Pizza was never meant to be poked at. It was meant to be freaking _quaffed_, as fast as possible, with booze to smooth its way.

The corner of Rufus' mouth twitches in a smile. "And then what? Refuse to serve me? Has any one ever refused to serve you alcohol, Reno?"

"Nevah." These slices are so thin that he can cram an entire slice into his mouth at one shot. "But then again, I don't look like a kid."

Rufus leans very slightly forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I daresay you do, actually. Especially when you're stuffing your face like that."

Oh, the kid wants to fight, right? Reno readies some return jibe, something about not being the one looking like a little preschooler, when he catches sight of Rufus' eyes, sky blue with a spark of amusement dancing in them…

…and something much, much darker lurking behind them.

The retort dies, and Reno finds himself making some other lame ass remark about other people clearly not thinking so, especially the chicks. Privately, he's sitting back and wondering at himself. Surely he's not afraid of the little punk, who has turned his attention to his own plate, and is delicately slicing away a sliver of pizza.

No, it's not that, he decides, as the wine arrives, and Rufus goes through the whole tasting regime. It's definitely not fear, he reflects, as he shoves back the chair and heads to the buffet table for seconds.

Reno is many things – careless, laid back, irresponsible – but he's not a fool. And he knows a real threat when he sees it. This is no pansy executive to poke fun at. If he wants to play, he'd better be ready to get bitten.

Of course, he thinks, grinning to himself, that just makes him want to play more.

-

He kicks up a fuss about the wine. Truth to be told, he can't be assed if it's wine or beer, but clearly, Ruffie expects him to throw a hissy fit, so he does. Never let it said that Reno lets anyone down. He snags the nearest waiter and orders a pitcher.

"A glass, you mean," Rufus says.

"A _pitcher_."

Games like this, you can't afford to lose the smallest point.

"A glass," Rufus says, with a wave to indicate that the discussion is over. The waiter looks harassed.

"A _pitcher_. And a glass for my young friend here," Reno insists, firmly. "Pizza needs beer, kiddo. They go together like a guy and a hot chick."

"A pitcher of beer on a separate check, then," Rufus says, swirling his wine. Some expensive shit, Reno has noticed. All he can tell from the fancy stuff on the label is that it's a Bordeaux, which means dry as fuck and definitely not for the inexperienced wine drinker.

Whole damn point to the kid. That was smooth. But even though he isn't as rich as the brat, he still has enough gil in his pocket to cover that. "Fine."

"Will that be all, sirs?" the waiter asks, nervously. Rufus waves him off before Reno thinks of the possibility of picking up the menu and ordering all the appetizers on it. It's probably for the best. He doesn't want to aggravate the kid too much after all.

"Why do you do that?" Rufus asks, as the waiter moves away and Reno resumes stuffing his face. This stuff is _good_. Pizza is always good.

"Beer? Gotta have it. It's practically a tradition."

Rufus finishes his first slice and starts on the second, as Reno polishes off his sixth. "Be contrary for the sake of being contrary," Rufus says.

"Don't know what you mean," Reno replies. _Same reason you do, kid. Because it's practically expected of us, yeah? We're supposed to hate each other on sight. That's why your dad gave you this assignment, which could easily have been fobbed off to Tseng or Veld or someone in Urban Development._

"I don't suppose you want some, then?" Rufus asks, hefting the bottle and indicating his near empty glass.

"You know me. Can't say no to alcohol."

Clink as he shoves the glass across the table, and Rufus graciously pours.

-

And Reno is suddenly very tired of the game.

That's always the problem. He plays politics, sure, but he's not all serious about them. It's much more fun to scandalize the brass and flirt with Scarlet (and sometimes Palmer) to make everyone scream, but this boy refuses to be scandalized. Refuses to react. Too boring, and too serious. Would probably take real work on Reno's part to get him scandalized, and even then, it probably wouldn't be easy. And even if a moment ago he was all ready to bait the viper, he really doesn't have the patience required to snare this particular one.

Bah. It's too much damn work to shake him up. Reno gets the feeling that if he ever dragged the kid to the Honey Bee and set the girls on him, he'd just take notes. In fact, if he ever dragged him to that Wall Market gym to meet the _brothers_, the kid probably wouldn't even bat an eyelid.

Damn boring.

The promised beer finally arrives, and Reno pours a glass, shoves it across the table, and claims the rest of the pitcher for himself. Damn kid is still watching him like a vulture.

_I'll get you another time_, he thinks, yawning and stretching. _You get let off on good conduct because you fed me properly._

"Surely you're not tired already," Rufus says. "We still have some things to attend to."

"Forget it," Reno replies. "Don't need to know that shit, and you know it."

"Perhaps not. Doubtless you'll be able to fight your way out of any trouble you encounter."

He wonders if there are barbs in that remark. He decides that it's easier to take another long drink from the pitcher.

Kid's tired too, Reno notes, seeing him trying to hide a yawn behind his napkin. Or maybe it's all the beer. Baby Shinra probably doesn't drink anywhere near this much on a regular day. Speaking of which... "So. You know any good bars around here? All you can drink specials, maybe?"

"Getting sloshed before a mission?"

"Whoever said I was getting sloshed? It's Sunday night. You can cut loose and hang for a while."

"Not interested."

"Who said you had a choice? Come on. Name a place, or I'm going to drag you to the nearest one."

"You may have fake IDs. I don't."

"You were the one who said it. Who's going to stop you?"

"Bars are not the same as restaurants. Neither are clubs."

"I'll just say that you're with me. You're pretty enough that we could pass you off as a girl—"

Rufus has evidently decided that he's too much of a waste of time to bother with any more. He's started ignoring him, signaling the waiter for the check instead.

"You and I," Rufus says, turning back, "Are going to go back to my apartment and finish going over the schematics of that reactor. Then you're free to go bar-hopping as you please."

Reno wonders what the price of ignoring that order could be. Honestly? He's sick to death of work, and going over reactor schematics is bullshit, because he won't remember all of this tomorrow. He picks this sort of thing up by first hand experience, not staring at a stupid map. He gives an irritated wave. "You've done your job, kiddo. Give it a rest."

Kid really is tired. He can see it from the shadows around his eyes. Didn't he just jet in from another of his business trips this morning? Several months into his Vice Presidency and he's already working himself to death. Well, maybe it's newbie enthusiasm. It'll die off soon enough.

"Besides, all of this is bullshit and you know it." Yeah, hit him on the bottom line. Rufus Shinra is one who never does anything without a definite return, they say…

"I'll give you the file," Rufus concedes, sighing. "You can go over it at your leisure."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

They both know that he won't do it. They both think it won't matter.

It turns out, the next day, that they are both, very, very wrong.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Rude!" Reno darts down the corridor, choking on smoke. Blood is trickling from some cut in his forehead where a bullet came too close, and he swipes frantically at it, too busy to even take time to pause and use the cure materia strapped to the bracelet in his arm.

His partner is missing. Lost him somewhere back in the smoke and fire, right about the time those Avalanche bastards started bringing out the heavy artillery.

"Reno," Tseng's voice crackles over his headset. "Where are you?"

"Don't know," he gasps back, the smoke tearing its way down his throat with every pant.

"We've lost you off our screens. Head down to the service elevators. We're falling back to the control room."

"Where the fuck is the service elevator?"

He can feel Tseng's frustration. "How far are you from your post?"

"Hell, boss, we were running, I took the nearest staircase, thought it would take me right back and…"

Bullets streak past and he curses, throwing himself to the ground. The pistol is heavy in his hands as he tries to sight through the haze to see who's firing at him. Damnit, where is Rude? He said to rendezvous …somewhere. The directions had made as much sense as Rufus' schematics had.

_It wouldn't have helped_, he thinks at himself. _Diagrams don't translate into the real thing. _

He can't help the little nagging feeling that he fucked up big time, though.

He snipes randomly into the darkness, but whoever it is just keeps returning fire. Cursing, he inches forward, when there's a sudden impact that throws him backwards. Dazed, he hits the floor, wondering when the explosion of pain is going to come.

_Muzzle flashes give away your location_, Veld yells at him from some bygone memory. _If they don't know where you are, don't return fire unless you're confident that you can get all of them!_

"Yes mum," he groans, shaking his head. No pain. They must have missed. Flopping over onto his belly again, he crawls his way across the service walk, trying to ignore the things blowing up around him.

There's a crackle of static from his headset. He taps it, but it refuses to resolve. "Hey Tseng, speak up, I can't hear you." He taps it again, harder, and reaches up to twiddle the little antenna… when the entire thing abruptly breaks apart in his hand.

"What the…"

He glances down at the headset, now in several pieces, and suddenly realizes what a lucky fucker he is.

The bullet hit him, alright. And was stopped by his comms unit. Which is now, unfortunately, very dead.

"Fuck."

He drops the useless thing, and figures that the best solution would be to run for it. This walkway is bound to lead somewhere. He'll see how it goes from there.

-v-

The call comes when he's just decided to leave the office for the night.

Avalanche has struck at reactor 1.

Avalanche has taken down the perimeter defenses and is inside reactor 1.

Rufus stops short in utter shock, thankful that Veld cannot see his expression over the PHS.

"Everything is going according to plan," Veld continues. "Would you like us to keep you updated?"

"Yes. Thank you." He's amazed that his voice remains as level as it does. After all, everything is _not_ going to according to plan. Avalanche wasn't supposed to have struck at all. He'd warned them, hadn't he? That it was a trap?

_Reno_, he thinks, suddenly, remembering his charge from the day before. Remembering a certain lapse in the complete and satisfactory fulfillments of his duties. Remembers handing off a file to someone he knows won't read it, skipping over the trip to the reactor which he knows he should have made, except that he'd gone home and fallen asleep instead. Suddenly, he needs more than just sporadic updates. He needs information in real time. He needs to be there.

He reverses direction sharply, heading for the Turk's operations room.

-v-

Reno is officially one very, very lost Turk. He stares at the elevator in front him, cursing his luck. X-698A should ring a bell, and it _does_, except that that bell is tied to his leg, it seems. He can't remember whether this is the service elevator that Tseng was talking about, or the main one that'll lead straight into the main entrance which Avalanche troopers are swarming all over.

This operation, he reflects, is going to hell in a handbasket. It's not just _one_ lost Turk either. Goodness knows where Rude is. The new Turks dropped out of contact moments ago, and Tseng is probably going utterly crazy in despair. And SOLDIER? Turned out to be completely useless. Or something. He doesn't know what went wrong, except that there were bigger explosions than everyone had expected, and suddenly Avalanche is beyond the front line and everyone is screaming for back up.

Fat lot of good they are doing as backup. As least they managed to stop Avalanche from carrying out its primary objective of blowing up the reactor by hitting the coolant. Although Avalanche seems to have fallen back on plan B, which seems to involve blowing everything up and bringing the reactor down.

_Choices_.

Risk taking the elevator straight to hell, and hope that Avalanche won't blow it up either, or head back.

_Rude's_ _somewhere back there_.

_So is Avalanche_.

"I can handle a few puny Avalanche punks," he snarls, spinning back, the EMR clutched tightly in his left hand and a pistol in his right. There was a stairwell somewhere back there. He'll take it.

-v-

Rufus arrives in Veld's office to find that everything, in fact, is not going according to plan.

Veld is there, of course, along with two other junior Turks whom Rufus spares only a cursory glance for. Tseng isn't – he's on site commander and therefore at the reactor itself. There's the usual controlled chaos that an operations room always has whenever they're in business, one side of the wall taken up by a huge screen conferencing directly with the SOLDIER operations center.

But it's not this that tips Rufus off. It's not even the fact that Veld is screaming at the SOLDIER commander, his usual calm and professional demeanor utterly shattered. It's the schematic of the reactor dominating the center screen, a glowing green version of the one he was trying to show Reno, and most of it is flashing violent red.

Half the reactor is under Avalanche control, he notes with horror, although the Turks are still putting up a good fight over at the control center.

"Rufus-sama," Veld says, noticing him.

"Carry on," Rufus replies, eyes scanning across the status updates flashing in the corner of the screen. Unfamiliar names – those must be the newbies. One critically injured. The other injured but okay. Rude, fine. Reno…

-v-

Sweat and blood are streaming into his eyes now. The pistol is empty, jammed into his belt, and he has no time to reload. He's half deaf, the recent explosions having blown his hearing to hell along with the half the corridor. Three Avalanche troopers are dead at his feet, several more closing in on him. Another bullet hits him, gets snagged by the bulletproof vest, and he spins, smashing the EMR right across the guy's helmet. Electricity crackles, and trooper's helmet explodes, leaving only a headless corpse to fall to the ground. Reno spins, sensing someone else moving, only to see the two remaining troopers falling back. He contemplates setting off in pursuit, then remembers the empty pistol. He pulls it out, jettisoning the empty clip and reaching for a new one—

--when the entire world explodes around him.

-v-

Reno's status flashes from uninjured to flashing blank. Unknown. Possibly dead. Veld notices, curses, and demands a report from Tseng.

"We lost track of him sir. We don't know where he is."

Rufus' fists are clenched so tightly that his nails feel as if they'll break skin soon. This is turning into a bloodbath, the very thing he was trying his utmost to avoid. He'd _told_ Elfe not to attack, warned her, persuaded her, and still…

"It's fine, sir," one of the new Turks says, a girl with auburn hair and a large shuriken strapped to her back. "The reinforcements arrived in time. We'll be able to stop them."

Rufus gives her a distracted nod, noting, indeed, that they appear to have the central entrance under control again. Avalanche is trapped, trying to retreat, unable to break through to their goal and unable to break out.

Caught in the jaws, just like he'd told them would happen. Did they really think that Shinra was so incompetent? And in a war of attrition, Shinra will always win.

Yet not without casualties. Rufus murmurs words of encouragement, almost automatically, as he turns to leave, weaving his way out between tables. It doesn't surprise him that his father is not there at all, or even that Veld would tell him that everything is under control when it is, in fact, not. After all, the President is only interested in good news – telling me you've succeeded, or not at all.

In his spare time, Rufus wonders if that's any way to rule.

For his part, he feels that any distance from the battlefield is way too far.

-

By the time he pulls up beside Reactor 1, the fight is largely over, and the firefighters are going in. Tseng turns to greet him as he climbs out of the car, looking weary. "Mr Vice President. You shouldn't have—"

"How many Turks did we lose?" he asks.

"None, fortunately."

"None?" he glances over. "What about Reno?"

"He was caught in a blast, sir, but he survived. He's on his way to medical right now."

Something that he hadn't noticed was knotted in his chest starts to unwind. "That stupid bastard," he growls.

"I take it that yesterday's preliminary briefing was not successful."

Rufus closes his eyes. "He got lost, didn't he."

"It's always a possibility in these circumstances, sir. There's always a lot of confusion during a fight."

"I was going to bring him to the reactor itself," Rufus mumbles. "Him and Rude. Except that he…" he shakes his head abruptly.

_One to bite the bullet later and walk off smiling…_

"You shouldn't be here, sir. In case…"

"I understand." Rufus sighs. "Good job, in any event."

"Thank you."

They stand there for a moment, Rufus standing by the open door of his car (sleek white, standard Shinra issue with certain very illegal modifications), and Tseng a few feet away, staring up at the reactor before them. The steady glow that normally enfolds it and its surroundings is flickering sporadically, and the technicians nearby are flinching and discussing rapidly in low voices. Evidently, the area is still not completely secure.

"How long before the situation is nominal?" Rufus asks, watching personnel flood in and out of the doors.

"We hope to have the area under control and power rerouted through the other reactors within the hour." The Turk glances over. "Again, sir, you shouldn't be here. I'll ask someone to accompany you back—"

"No need for that." Rufus lets his fingers slide off the edge of the door. One day, he vows quietly, one day, when he is in charge, none of this will happen again. "I'm heading home."

-v-

He doesn't head home after all. He finds himself back in the Shinra building, back in his office on the 69th floor, staring out over the city. Mako Reactor #1 is illuminated by strobe lights, but the rest of the city is just as it always is. Quiet. Peaceful.

_One day_, he thinks, pressing a hand up against the glass. _One day my beloved city will no longer be plagued by war._

He needs to call Elfe, but figures that that can be left for later. He's suddenly tired, in no mood to pick a fight or listen to excuses. _They chose the consequences when they chose to act, after all. _He slumps in his chair, watching the flickering lights.

He wants this over with. He wants this conflict resolved in the cleanest, most bloodless way possible. His father needs to sit up and notice, or be disposed of before his insanity costs the world and Midgar any more grief. Avalanche is too large – was too large even by the time he found them – to be carelessly stopped or disposed of.

He lets an arm trail across the armrest of the chair before it falls away to the side. The President will respond quickly, and forcefully, against this new threat. Scapegoats will be found. Large, extravagant gestures will be made. People will be sacrificed, others bribed. Rufus snorts gently. For all that the President professes to rule with money, he utilizes fear to his greatest advantage as well. The promise of swift and deadly retribution, and the promise to the masses that Shinra Company is their best bet, the one that will look after them, the one that they should flock to in this time of need.

Not a bad policy, Rufus reflects, but one that is somewhat reactive in nature, rather than preventative. He frowns, staring out at the sea of lights floating before him. Somewhere, someplace, there has to be a perfect solution to this conundrum. Given its massive technological advantage, the Company has a natural monopoly on a large number of fields, without even need for anti competitive measures. It's been a long time since the last hostile takeover, and all its challengers have died natural deaths from an inability to measure up. Yet certain elements still chafe against it.

_Nothing we can do will please them._

He stares out into infinity, moodily reflecting on possibilities and futures and methods of ruling. The darkness of the office wraps around him, enfolding him in the silence, and it is not long before exhaustion pulls him into depths of sleep.

-v-

It's pretty damn cold when he wakes up.

Grumbling about the messed up central heating in the bloody shack that the Turks call housing, Reno attempts to fumble his way out of bed to look for another blanket.

A blast of pain arcing through his arm stops him short, and he blinks blurry eyes in confusion.

"Try not to fall out of bed. I'm not going to tuck you back in," a voice says from somewhere off to his right, sounding almost like Tseng, but yet somehow different. Higher, clearer, perhaps? More stuck up arrogant brattish?

_It can't be…_

He turns his head, squinting against lights that are way too bright. White fades into white, and he can just make out the outlines of a thin figure standing beside the bed. Blond hair. Black turtleneck. He's sure that if he squints hard enough, he will be able to make out icy blue eyes.

The royal princeling himself.

_What the hell…_

"Come to nag me about homework?" he asks.

Rufus turns away, glancing at the stack of monitoring devices beside the bed, and says nothing.

"Don't they have visiting hours for this shit?" Reno yawns, wondering if there's a cigarette somewhere and if he can bum it without the doctors going postal.

He can't see Rufus' face from this angle, but from the wry tone in the boy's voice, it sounds as if he might actually be smiling. Or smirking. "Like you said, once, who's going to stop me?"

"Fucking brat," Reno groans. "I don't suppose you have a light."

"And even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."

"What're you doing here anyway?"

Rufus hesitates just one heartbeat too long, a heartbeat that turns an otherwise flippant response into something too tense, too calculated: "Come to nag you about homework."

"Right. And you're done. See you around, kid."

A low growl sounds from the other. "I am not a kid."

"Whatever you say." He twitches an arm, wondering if he can pull out the IVs. There's the curious tingle in his skin of the effect of a lot of Cure Materia, and he vaguely wonders how bad the damage was before he was brought in. He doesn't particularly care to find out, as long as he's on his feet soon. Lying in a hospital bed is damn bloody boring.

"Yo, Rufus."

"What?"

"Did they get the reactor?"

Rufus moves back into view, a slight frown marring his features and looking way too old for someone who's just passed his sixteenth birthday. "Succinctly, no. The damage has also been repaired and the reactor is expected to be back online—" he pauses, pushing up his sleeve to check his watch. "—should be online now, actually."

"Well, yeah. We lost anyone?"

"Seventeen SOLDIERs. Forty more are presently in medical." Rufus' voice takes on the slightly abstracted tone of someone reporting to a superior, rattling off figures that don't quite mean anything to him.

_Yeah well. This is just a handful compared to what we lost in the Wutai war. But still._

The boy is hesitating still, looking as if he wishes to say something more. It's freaking weird, waking up to find the kid Vice President standing beside your bed, instead of another Turk, or Tseng, or Veld fuming quietly and all ready to chew him out for screwing up. After all, surely the VP has better things to do than to stand around visiting invalid Turks?

Right on cue, there's a buzz on the doorbell. Rufus turns, frowning, as a doctor deferentially eases his way in, mumbling something about an emergency board meeting and would the Vice President please attend?

Reno nearly laughs out loud at the expression of distaste that whisks past Rufus' face. It's _exactly_ like the expression he's sure he wears, every time Tseng hands him a stack of paper and tells him to handle acquisitions or post-mission reports, or other bullshit.

_Come on, kiddo. Whine a bit. Stall. Act your age for once._

"Well, who's going to make you?" Reno tells him.

Rufus shoots him a sour glare, buttons up the last button of his jacket, and heads for the door. As the doctor scuttles out, the boy pauses, one hand on the door control. "Reno," he says.

"Yeah?"

"It would be a waste if you got killed. Try to avoid it in future."

The door hisses shut behind the him, leaving Reno wondering what the hell all of that was about.


End file.
